Tag: poetry

Let’s get naked together… Help strip me of my ego and I’ll disrobe the stress from your mind. Give up article of timidity, illusion And cast aside veils donned in shame about our truths. Kiss each other’s spirits the way we caress skin, run our hands through each other’s ideas the way we play in…

Legs twined. Our fingers climbed each other through the night. Scarves undone. My locks tangled yours Little brown vines. Inhale the moment Before memory wakes us – We are supposed to be angry About something Inconsequential. We use eggshelled silence To mask the sleep in our step. Courteous and unremarkable We play at passive anger…

Written years ago, by now. Still relevant. How time flies… for my love. Talking with you is Whispering into the wind: a thousand echoes come laughing back to me Spinning on a dirt devil of past personal secrets and inside jokes opening themselves like morning glories to the moon’s late melody. Though the story is…

They stood before each other Sure of the other’s beauty And suddenly stilled in the confidence of her own. The “I wish” and “if only” rose Darkening cheeks and shifting eyes They could not escape the taboo desire To acknowledge beauty in both her and her too Because this world has been trained To think…

They were 2 ghosts at coffee Polite, if not a little awkward Corpses blushing for the first time Love flowing like the last gasp in their limbs Except they were very much alive And it was burgers, not coffee, And polite did not conceal The bitterness that tasted of decay, should have been in a…

Take it: My pen, and be enundated no longer with my pedantic, rambling streams; My hands, and suffer no too gentle caress any longer; My tongue, and be seiged with no passionate protests or sharp challenges against safe silence; My body, and harass yourself no more with fantasy of the sweetness of mine Eden’s fruit;…

The memory is a strawberry Fresh on the vine With a twisting pluck- It is mine A red gem gleaming in the sun Tart freshness and sugar sweet There’s a hint of the earth in it A safe dirt kind of taste The way a garden smells after rain And the earth is in me…

I’ll love you into forever – Through crossfire of liberal syntax, and simile, you’ll be a favourite in literary history. . . . Every page the echo of my heart beat: Your name is poetry, and, for love, my tongue will live beyond the books to tell them how you’re called.

In resonance to my frustration with the Lyft driver’s attitude yesterday, one of my dearest loves and relatively new writer gave me permission to share his own distaste with such attitudes and lifestyles, expressed here through poesy. You worked hard for that status, didn’t you… You worked hard to be in that tax bracket.You worked…